


Into Dead Light

by the5throommate



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Horror, M/M, Metaphysics, Multi, Other, Psychic Bonds, ch 2 continuation, queer horror, richie accepting his sexuality, the ability gained from the deadlights is the shining, turtle magic, yes eddie will be in this just be patient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the5throommate/pseuds/the5throommate
Summary: Three years after his return to Derry, Richie Tozier returns to Maine once more, this time for a much-needed paid gig at his alma mater for their homecoming week.Back in the small college town of Gorey, Maine, Richie finds all the problems he had run from as a young man still there waiting for him, and stumbles upon a student who shines, just like him, and just like Beverly.It was alive. This much he knew. This much he dreaded.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. PRELUDES

**Author's Note:**

> A remix of my previous WIP The Lights That Never Go Out, now as a multimedia smau that you can also find on twitter. The fic can be read without the accompaniment of the tweets, but you'll be missing out on some neat extra content that adds to the story!
> 
> [INTO DEAD LIGHT TWITTER](https://twitter.com/INTODEADLIGHT)
> 
> You can also find all the links (including links to playlists, character backstory info, etc) [HERE](https://intodeadlight.carrd.co/)

1

In the late summer of the year 2016, the small town of Derry, Maine, was hit with a small, violent, and highly localized earthquake, resulting in the complete and utter destruction of one of the town’s longest standing and long-abandoned private homes on a street called Neibolt. Though no one would say it aloud, the townsfolk were relieved. Something about that place had been off, from the moment they broke ground to dig the well and build up the foundation. A dark, unnatural aura hung heavy over the property, occasionally seeping out to infect the town around it, to poison the people like it poisoned the earth on that parcel of land on Neibolt Street. 

Beyond the property line plants wouldn’t grow, birds never sang, and the air itself was still. The only animals to venture onto the land were the ones crawling away to find a dark, dank place to curl up and die, or the ones dragged there already dead in the bloodied teeth of a yellow-eyed predator. 

Things went there to die. 

Plants.

Animals. 

People. 

The destruction of the Neibolt House also seemed to come, to the relief of the town, the destruction of whatever darkness the property had held in its grasp, or, possibly, the darkness that had held the property. This was only amplified by the death of the escaped deranged murderer Henry Bowers who had been found in the town library, skull cracked open by a hatchet that had been on display, most likely having had fallen from its display during the earthquake, burying itself in splintered bone and gray matter as Bowers had seemingly been scrambling unsuccessfully in the confusion for cover under the various tables and chairs. 

Whether a freak accident brought on from trembling ground or an act of divine justice, the townsfolk felt that the lives he had taken had been avenged. They had to take what they could, as, save for Bowers’ own father, the bodies of his victims, multiple children in ‘89 and two more in 2016, were never found, presumed forever lost underneath the ruin of the Neibolt house. The body of Bowers was cremated and disposed of at an undisclosed location. 

Hidden under the layers of small-town gossip and speculation surrounding their newest romp in the true-crime genre were some comparatively more run-of-the-mill rumors of just what went on during the return of the self-proclaimed “Loser’s Club”, a group of childhood friends who returned to their hometown for a nearly three decade reunion. Things had reportedly gotten off to a rocky start, a friend of a waitress at Derry’s only Chinese restaurant telling her hairdresser that their time at the restaurant had ended with the almost complete destruction of their private dining room and one member of the party getting into a loud argument with a ten-year-old. The reunion was brought to an end the day of the earthquake when, according to statements taken by investigators, Edward Kaspbrak left the inn the group was staying at unannounced, never to be seen or heard from again. The older townsfolk who remembered Kaspbrak as a child joked that the earthquake must have frightened him off, that he had gone running scared back to his mother, or, as they later learned, his wife, who might as well have been the same woman. But Myra Kaspbrak never heard from him again either, and two years later in 2018 filed for divorce on grounds of abandonment. 

The people of Derry moved on from the summer of 2016 without much thought. They mourned where they needed to mourn, remembered what the needed to remember and forgot what they wanted to forget. The remaining six of the Loser’s Club left Derry behind once more, this time unable to do nothing but remember. 

  
  


2

  
  


Richie could hear him rummaging around in his closet. 

That had been how it always started, faint shuffles and scratches, tiny breaths. At first he thought it had been an animal that had somehow found its way into his apartment, maybe chewed through the walls and into his closet. 

It was late January of 2017. In the darkness of his bedroom he could see the faint outline of the words that appeared on his closet door. 

_ NOT SCARY AT ALL _

His hands were shaking hard, barely able to hit the right letters on his phone screen. The more he typed, the stronger the smell of rotten sewage leaked out from the cracks in the closet door. Hallorann’s method wasn’t working. He kept closing his eyes and counting to ten but it was still there. He tried and tried and tried again, knowing that he could count to one hundred if he wanted to and it would still be there. 

_ Sometimes they’re just too strong,  _ Dan’s text message read.  _ Sometimes they just get stuck and have to go away on their own. I would move to another room, use those noise-cancelling headphones. Burn some incense or something to get rid of the smell.  _

_ Remember, Richie. It’s not him. It’s not real. It’s the psychic equivalent of tracking in dog shit on your shoes. It’s leftovers. It can’t hurt you.  _

_ he doesn’t usually say my name this much, I don’t like it _

_ No one likes it. And stop calling it ‘he’. You’re just adding to it that way.  _

_ Now go to another room and try to get some sleep. I can call you in the morning when I get off work to check up on you.  _

_ I will  _

_ thank you _

_ for everything _

Richie scrambled out of his bedroom to his living room sofa, still wrapped in his blanket, headphones in hand. He shoved them over his ears, racing to start the playlist Mike had sent him for relaxation. Even after turning up the volume to a point where it almost hurt, the voice from the closet still rang in his head. 

_ Richie? I’m here. I’m here, Richie. Why did you leave without me? Richie. Open the door. Let me in. _

_ Let me in. _

  
  


3

  
  


In the same week Myra Kaspbrak’s divorce went through, a book was stolen from an antique store in the college town of Gorey, Maine, not 60 miles north of Derry. The title had caught the young man’s eye instantly;  _ Night’s Truth _ . It wasn’t even that expensive for an antique book, only $30, but he tucked it into the inner pocket of his worn-out bomber jacket nonetheless and nonchalantly made his way out of the store, a cold sweat forming on his brow. 

Upon arriving home, he took the book out with shaking hands, laying it carefully on the dining room table and running his fingers over the letters embossed on the worn leather cover. He felt a shiver of hope run through him, a giddy excitement like he was back in grade school with a field trip to go on in the morning. He thumbed through the yellowed pages carefully until he found what he had been looking for. He scribbled his partner a quick note, sticking it to their fridge with a novelty magnet his grandma had brought them from a trip to Florida, collected the book and required supplies, and left his home as quickly as he came. 

Julian Hoffman was formally reported missing early the following morning, the last official sighting of him taking place at approximately 10 pm near the edge of a cliffside off a popular hiking trail in the area. Officials in the area agreed that, in all likelihood, he perished on the wet rocks below before being whisked out to sea by violent currents, but since no body was ever found, he was declared, much like Eddie Kaspbrak of Derry, a missing person. 

Sidney Parker had never felt so alone. 

Unbeknownst to them, they were not. 

But that didn’t stop the nightmares. Almost every night from the moment Julian had vanished, there were new visions, new terrors. They would wake up frantic, sick, covered in a cold sweat as their consciousness tried to process the images that flashed in their head, flashed and pulsated and blinded them like those damn lights from that night. 

In the lights they had seen...everything. The future and the past, a present that wasn’t their own. Distant planets, far away stars, sounds and melodies that might have been words, might have been music, in some world parallel to theirs. Caught in the light, Julian’s hand had slipped from their own as new galaxies were born in their head and as blood began to dribble from their nose. 

_ Do you see how I can not be killed? _ The lights had whispered.  _ Do you see what I am capable of? What I have already done? What I am gOING TO DO? _

The voice grew louder, deeper. Had Sidney been deaf they could have felt the words as they were shook into their bones, into every cell of their body and every inch of their psyche. The last words that it had spoken, whatever it had been, rattled throughout their skull for an eternity and for a second. 

_ I AM THE EATER OF WORLDS _

And Sidney knew it to be true, because when the lights went dark, when the only break in the blackness of the night became the stars and moon, they found that their world was gone.

  
  
  


4

  
  


In the years following their return to Derry, the Losers had done their best to adjust back to their normal lives, or, for some of them, adjusting to new lives altogether. Bill and Stan went home to their wives, Mike had packed up his attic apartment with superhuman speed and hauled ass southward. Ben helped Bev hire movers to get her belongings from her (ex) husband’s house as they hopped on a plane to Ben’s, holding hands the entire way. Richie had stood on the Kissing Bridge, crudely carved initials beginning to blur behind tears, before getting into his nice car and returning to his nice apartment to be met by nobody. 

By the time Sidney and Julian had begun the 2017 fall semester at Gorey Community College, Richie Toizer was just over a year in his hiatus from stand-up. He lived there for two years on his savings and the occasional royalties check, maybe taking an odd job here or there, doing small opening sets for friends at tiny, out of the way venues and taking a few guest spots for some episodes of miscellaneous podcasts that he couldn’t even remember the names of. And little more than two years in, funds were running low. 

He sat on his bed in his boxers staring at his cellphone screen, anxiously picking at the skin of his lips as a blunt roach smoldered in the makeshift ashtray on his bedside table. It was 2019. He honestly thought he would have things a bit more together by now. 

“So?” chirped Bev’s voice from his phone speaker. “Are you gonna take it?” 

Richie flinched as he tore a piece of dead skin off his lips, and Beverly kept talking. 

“I think you should do it. It’ll be good for you! You’ve talked about wanting to go more ‘indie’ with your stand-up and I think this can be a really good starting off point. And Aaron seems like a nice guy, I looked up his Instagram. He’s cute.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richie found himself snapping. 

“What do you mean ‘what’s that supposed to mean’? It means he’s good-looking.” 

“Yeah, but-but why do I need to know that?” 

“It was just an observation, Richie. Never-mind it.” 

Richie knew that Beverly knew. Richie knew that they all knew. And Richie knew there was an unspoken rule in place that everyone would just pretend like no one knew anything. 

It was 2019. He honestly thought he would be okay by now. 

“Anyway,” sighed Beverly. “Ben says hi. And I think you should take it. I think I’m actually gonna be in Quebec for a shoot that week, too; I might be able to pop down and say hi. You can show me all the cool places you used to hang out at in college.” 

“‘Cool’? Oh, prepare to be disappointing.” 

“So you’re going!” 

“No! I mean ye-fuck. Yeah. I guess. Fuck.”

He couldn’t see Bev but knew for a fact that she was currently wearing that smug little I-told-you-so grin on her face. What a bitch. He loved her so much. 


	2. Chapter 2

1

When Richie Tozier first met Aaron Phillips, he was standing at the doorway of Richie’s dorm in a new hoodie a size too big with the college’s logo embroidered proudly on the front, fiddling nervously with the pull strings, stuttering a bit when he had asked if Richie had eaten yet because hey, my roommate is home for the weekend and I ordered an extra large pizza and don’t have a fridge, you wanna come help me finish it? 

Richie had told him yes, because he had seemed familiar. 

When Richie Tozier met Aaron Phillips for the second time, he was standing at the baggage claim in a nice business-casual outfit, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fiddling nervously with the top button of his shirt, scrolling through his phone. Richie noticed some major changes; thick, dark hair turned salt-and-pepper and some new scruff on his face, rugged looking but neat enough to still be okay in an office. Aaron looked up at him, catching him staring, a grin breaking out on his face. Big, kind, dark eyes under big dark eyebrows. He looked so  _ happy _ . 

“ _ Richie, did you see that? I did it, I did it, Richie, I think I killed It-”  _

“Richie?” 

Shit. 

“Richie, hey!” 

Aaron met Richie half way, looking like he was going in for a hug but settling on a handshake. Richie thought, fuck it, and pulled him in with a single arm in true ‘bro hug’ fashion. 

“It’s so great to see you!” 

“It’s great to see you, too,” Richie replied, catching a whiff of his shampoo before he pulled away. 

What a fucking way to realize you had a type. 

  
  


2

  
  


“Thanks again for the ride,” Richie said, “Sorry you had to be out so late on a Sunday, though.” 

“Don’t worry about it! Was happy to do so.” said Aaron, taking it upon himself to walk Richie to his room and unlock the door for him. He pushed open the door, welcoming him inside. 

“Man. Where was this place when we were going here?” 

“Dunno. But we honestly had it lucky in those dorms back then. You know there’s up to six students to a room now? Can you imagine the fucking smell?” 

“I’m sure I could but I really don’t want to.” 

Aaron took a moment to show him around the dorm. Bathroom, kitchenette, bed and sitting area. “The only appliance that doesn’t actually work is the toaster. Do people even make toast anymore? Anyways. Fridge is empty but that corner store on main is still open til 2 if you’re hungry or anything. Shit, I should of asked you if you were hungry in the car, we could have driven through somewhere!” 

“Dude, you’ve already bent over backwards for me, don’t worry about it! Still can’t believe you can fit so much energy in yourself, you’re like a little office gerbil. You gotta get some sleep, man, you have like, actual work in the morning, right?”

“Ugh, fuck, I do,” Aaron sighed. “I guess this is where I leave you, then. Hey! Don’t forget they’re having a breakfast for all the homecoming speakers, it starts at 9. Nothing too fancy, but hey, it’s free.” 

“I’ll be there,” Richie said. “Oh, and Aaron?” 

Aaron stopped in the doorway, looking back at Richie. “Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For everything. I-I really can’t thank you enough for getting me this set, man. I...I needed this. Really. And that you even thought of me, even after...uh. You know. Thanks.” 

“Rich. I’ve always considered you a good friend, even after not seeing you for a while. Thought it would be fun. Help out the school and meet an old friend. Two birds one stone. And, uh. Speaking of work. I’m pretty much in the office all day so I won’t see you unless they come by on the campus tour, which, I can’t imagine they will, so...you wanna, like, meet up for dinner or something? Wilkes’ Deli is still in business, just as good as the day we first went.” 

Richie told him yes, because he seemed familiar. 

  
  


3

  
  


Sidney Parker woke up near midnight, the face of a man they had never met crystal clear in their mind. He had been bruised, bloody, covered with filth and grime. They were looking up at him through the eyes of someone else, but had the feeling that they got in their stomach when they looked at Julian: warm. Safe. The feeling of his fingers entwined with their own, squeezing them tightly, reassuringly.

And the man’s chest exploded. 

Sidney stumbled out of bed, making their way to the bathroom with their eyes scrunched closed, their head throbbing. Running on autopilot they crouched almost obediently over the toilet and began to vomit. 

That part was over quick; they hadn’t had much to eat that day. They spit one final time into the porcelain bowl and flushed, and then turned and turned on the shower, not even bothering to touch the cold water tap. Their dog, Frankie, sleepily lumbered in after them, curling up on their discarded t-shirt and boxers on the floor to wait for her master to get out of the shower and return to bed. 

The scorching water on their skin came as great relief, muscles finally beginning to relax, the pickaxe digging into their temple and eye socket beginning to dull. They sat in the shower, kneeled, with their forehead to the ground as if in prayer, until their skin couldn’t even register the heat anymore, their skin boiled bright red, their fingers pruned. Sidney then took a moment to stand there on the bath mat before even reaching for a towel, stretching their neck from side to side, straightening their back, cracking their knuckles.

They were going crazy. They had been going crazy, over the past year. They heard things, saw things, felt things that they shouldn’t, because they shouldn’t be real. They couldn’t be real. 

But they were. They had to be. Because Sid now could see its effect on other people as well. The clerk at the deli they frequented would always be reaching for the phone right before it rang. A girl in one of the ceramics classes could read people in a way they had never seen before, knowing exactly what was going on in your head but without knowing details, able to make you feel at peace with just a small touch to the shoulder. They had tried to casually bring it up with her, to push the hint that hey, I can feel this too, you’re not alone. But she only seemed to get more and more confused as they tried to bring it up, and Sidney decided to just leave it at that. There was no use in pulling someone down with you to a place they didn’t even know existed. 

They patted themselves dry with a fresh towel and brushed the taste of bile from their teeth, spat into the sink and took a look at the mirror. It was fogged, their reflection showing only vaguely as a fuzzy, featureless figure. The ideal human form, Sidney thought. Soft. Fuzzy. Featureless. 

Frankie stood on all fours, staring patiently at the door. Sidney turned the handle and Frankie took off down the hall, audibly jumping back into the bed with one of her favorite squeaky toys. Sidney hoped dogs didn’t get migraines. They didn’t deserve them. Before joining their beloved pet, they took one last look at the soft fuzzy man in the mirror and, for a reason they didn’t even bother to think about, traced a few letters into the thick condensation on the glass. They paused for a moment, blankly staring, not fully comprehending what they had just done or why they had done it before returning to bed, falling asleep on top of the covers.

  
  


4

  
  


Richie woke up from a dream about being at the edge of a large, dark cliffside needing to take a piss. As he felt around for his glasses on the nightstand he wondered which had come first: the need to pee or the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks hundreds of feet below where he had stood. 

(Had he been standing, though? It was as though his feet weren’t touching the ground.)

He got to the doorway of the apartment’s small bathroom and stopped. 

Something was in there. Something shining. 

His heart picked up in his chest as the darkness in the bathroom seemed to buzz. He inched closer, slowly, not knowing what it was, not wanting it to be what was sometimes in his closet. 

Deep breaths. Count to ten. 

Maybe he could just piss in the kitchen sink instead. 

_ Still afraid of the dark? Still a cowering child? You’re literally scared of the monster in your closet. Pathetic.  _

Richie shook the thoughts from his head, scrunching his eyes closed before stepping into the bathroom and flicking on the light. He peaked out through one eye, preparing for the worst. 

The toilet was the same. The shower was the same. The dirty towel he had left on the floor was the same. 

But it felt different. 

It felt familiar. 

Glancing to the mirror his stomach dropped. It was fogged, like the condensation from a too-hot shower, and when he went to wipe it away discovered that it was fogged behind the glass. His reflection was distorted in the fog, making him look less like a man and more like a soft, fuzzy, featureless figure. The only evidence of his true reflection was in the letters drawn out in the still dripping condensation:

  
_ LOSER _


	3. Chapter 3

1

The message left in Richie’s mirror was gone by morning. It wasn’t as though he had been expecting it to stay, but he had been hoping to snap a picture of it to send to Bev, just to spice things up between the huge blocks of text he usually ended up dumping on her after even the slightest brush with the shine. Ben once said she read through them over breakfast like it was the morning news. She must have been having an early morning, because she texted back almost right away. 

BEV

-Why would I call you a loser through a mirror when I can call you one through the phone?

-so it wasn’t you?

-No...why did you think that?

-idk it felt like you

-the kind of “shine” it had on it u know

-Well Dick and Dan said that we can manifest things ourselves, so maybe on some unconscious level you literally looked in the mirror and called yourself a loser.

-i know what i feel like and it definitely wasnt me

-it had that feeling our shine has but it wasnt me

-it felt like the lights

-and it just kind of felt...idk nice? like yours

-I feel like that’s lowkey sexist but that’s not our topic. 

-I have a conference call to get on soon but you have nothing to worry about. Even if it wasn’t you or even me, you said whatever it was was nice!

-yeah...i'll talk to you later

His bad jokes aside, she was right. He knew what dangerous things felt like, what evil things felt like. This thing, like he said felt nice. Familiar. The way Beverly felt, the way his own insides felt when he meditated like Dick taught him to. 

It hadn’t been a warning; it had been a welcome. 

2

Richie felt like he had slipped backwards in time. There he was, in his college town with his college best friend in one of their favorite college hangouts, which apparently hadn’t changed its menu in about two decades. Were it not for the tablet that had replaced the old cash register and the throng of college kids sucking on vape pens outside, the place was exactly the same. 

“So,” Aaron said through a mouthful of ruben. “Just what has Mr. Showbiz been up to all this time? You’re on no social media at all, I’m jealous actually.” 

“It’s all an act, man,” Richie replied, huffing a laugh. “The short of it is that essentially for the past ten years at least I’ve just been stuck in all sorta shitty sell-out contracts where they just fucking owned everything, you know? I got so caught up in partying and the fact that I was making money that I just did whatever they said and before I knew it I was just some perpetually hungover muppet memorizing a bunch of cheap, shitty bits.” 

Aaron snorted, wiping some sauce from the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, “sorry, man, don’t mean to laugh but the hungover muppet got me.”

“Dude, I’m a comedian, people laughing at me means I’m doing a good job.” 

“Okay but, other than the job and career stuff. How’ve you been? You, uh, seeing anyone or anything like that?” 

If there was ever a worse question to be asked, Richie had yet to be asked it. And to have Aaron be the one waiting for the answer made it infinitely worse. 

What’ll ya tell him, Rich? Said the voice in his head in a mocking tone. You gonna tell him the truth? That the last person you really saw was him, all those years ago, humping like a couple of stray dogs on a shitty, plastic covered twin mattress? That since then the closet you’ve gotten with someone you love ended with having to clean his blood from your glasses and skin? Are you gonna disappoint him, let him know once a coward always a coward, too scared to even look up thirty second videos of men with their cocks in their hands without opening a private tab in your browser?

“Uh,” Richie began, fingers beginning to anxiously shred a paper napkin on the table, “uh, no. Not really.”

“Really?” Aaron said, seeming surprised. “You mentioned a girlfriend in at least one of your TV spots. You guys break up, or-?”

“Never existed. That was Muppet Richie talking, remember?”

“Were they trying to...hide the truth? Or did they not know.” 

If it had been anyone other than Aaron he probably would have gotten pissed, stormed out of the place as inconspicuously as he could to go find somewhere to hide away and get sick. But it was Aaron. There wasn’t any malice in his words, he wasn’t going to call him an idiot or make a joke, no matter how much Richie probably deserved it. 

Richie still hesitated. A force of habit. 

“They didn’t know. I don’t think they really cared about me enough to ask, or even notice. I’m-it’s, it’s still...complicated,” he said with a sour laugh. “You’ll hate me for this, especially since we talked about this like twenty fucking years ago, but-” 

He had to pause for a moment, blinking fast. He was not about to start crying in the middle of a damn deli surrounded by a bunch of goofy twenty-somethings whose personal lives were in no doubt much more put together than his was. 

“I’ve still never really…” he made some meaningless hand motions to take the place of words he couldn’t bring himself to say. “I got...close? I mentioned visiting some old friends a few years ago...they know. I mean, I think they do. I’ve just never said it. Out loud.” 

Richie tore his eyes away from the napkin he was tearing to force himself to meet Aaron’s gaze, for at least a few seconds, even if he dreaded seeing the look of disappointment on his face that was sure to be there. 

“You’re disappointed in me.” Richie pointed out. 

“No,” Aaron said gently. “Absolutely not. The only thing I’m disappointed at is that you’re still stuck in a place where you feel the need to hide yourself away. Which isn’t your fault, by the way.”

“Now you sound too much like my therapist.”

“Hey, you told your therapist? That’s good! That’s progress, buddy!” Aaron clapped his hand down on top of Richie’s, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m proud of you!” 

Richie could feel his face grow hot, and he squeezed Aaron’s hand back. “Thanks, man.” 

They went back to their dinners, hands no longer touching but legs tangled together under the table.Richie told Aaron some of his best L.A. stories, which mostly involved making fun of startup douchebags and anyone in AirPods holding some overpriced cold-pressed juice, and Aaron filled Richie in on recent campus drama (lots of arguing about what to name the new dorms, it seemed; they had even opened the door for student suggestions, but the kids didn’t seem to take it that seriously). 

“I mean, come on, _Dormy McDormface_ doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” Aaron said. “At least _Casa del House_ was fucking original.” 

After nearly two hours of catching up, meals long finished, Aaron and Richie decided to stop hogging the table, giving it up to a couple of students who carried their dinners and textbooks in tow. One of them gave a friendly wave, the other just nodding their head, their hands full. 

“Those two are a nice couple, I know one of them from some community theater stuff,” explained Aaron. He cracked his back, leaning up against the railing on the deli’s front patio, sighing. “God, I don’t want to go to fucking work tomorrow.” he groaned. 

“That’s your own fault, bud,” said Richie. “Shoulda gone the Toizer route. Dropping all your shit during a prolonged manic episode and moving to L.A. with no fucking warning at all, succeeding only through pure dumb luck and the privilege of the white man.” 

Aaron laughed, loud enough to get some glances from other patrons of the restaurant. “You’re gonna do great at the show, man. The kids’ll love it, I swear.”

Richie had almost forgotten that he had technically come here to work. “How do you know that?” he asked. 

“Well,” Aaron replied, “practically anything is better than what happened last year.”

“Last year?”

“Yeah, we had another standup guy, like barely 30, doing a set for homecoming and of course he shows up coked out of his fucking mind, raving like a lunatic. Didn’t even make it fifteen minutes into the show before he jumped off the stage and started fighting with some of the audience.” 

“No shit!” 

“Yeah! The videos are still online, I’m sure.” 

They stood on the patio for a few silent moments, watching as the last few rays of sun slipped below the horizon. 

“Speaking of leaving with no fucking warning,” Richie said nervously, breaking the silence, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Aaron, I really just completely abandoned you and I am so sorry.” He cast his eyes downwards, not wanting to see Aaron’s face, ashamed. 

“Well,” said Aaron, “It’s not like every decision made when you’re twenty is a homerun.” 

Richie felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder, another hand cupping his jaw and chin. Aaron was guiding his face up to meet his own. Even in the dark of the evening he could see Aaron crystal clear; kind, dark eyes, a soft smile, salt-and-pepper colored scruff that matched his hair. “I forgive you, Richie.” he said. 

And Aaron kissed him. 

Richie felt like he had slipped backwards in time. His heart skipped beats, his stomach dropped, his hands began to sweat. Love or fear, it didn’t matter. Over time he had realized they both feel the same. 

He kissed Aaron back. 

His entire body shivered, goosebumps erupting on his skin. He felt it. He felt the shine that had been in his bathroom, in the dream he had about that windy cliff side.Is it Aaron? he wondered, as fingers combed through his hair. Has it been Aaron this whole time? 

The kiss ended, as they all do, Richie resting his forehead against Aaron’s, just breathing, inscribing every detail of the moment he could into memory. 

“We should have breakfast sometime,” Aaron muttered. “I don’t have to be in til 10 on Wednesday, we could meet up then.” 

“Yeah, that would be-” Richie’s reply caught in his throat upon looking fully at Aaron’s face again. “Blood,” he said instead. Aaron’s upper lip and base of his nose was coated in it, red smeared over his skin, spread by their kiss. He looked up at Richie in his own horror. 

“Shit, Richie, your nose-” 

Richie opened his mouth to say something, but was met only with the taste of warm iron on his tongue. He sputtered, turning away from Aaron and wiping frantically at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, steadying himself against the patio railing, head beginning to spin and knees shaking. He vaguely heard Aaron say he was going to his car to get some wipes and to sit right there, I’ll be right back, don’t worry. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, still holding his sleeve to his face, opening them again only when he felt Aaron standing over him. 

But the person standing above him wasn’t Aaron. 

They were about Aaron’s height, give or take, Richie couldn’t tell much from his spot on the ground. Their look was...strange. Familiar. Wearing an oversized jacket, thin legs sticking out of the bottom like a pair of popsicle sticks that ended in a pair of those chunky sneakers that seemed to be a trend nowadays, they looked down at Richie the same way a kid would look down at a possum that may or may not be playing dead: curious, hesitant. Afraid. Their left hand held a take-out bag from the deli, their right up at their face, clutching a wadded-up paper napkin. A wadded-up paper napkin spotted with dark blots of blood. 

_ Do you see how I can not be killed? _

Behind the stranger then rose a shadow, impossibly large, impossibly familiar. In the cavern below the Neibolt house, It pulled back one of its claws, ready to strike, to kill-

-and then the man’s chest exploded-

-and then his body slipped out of sight over the cliffside- 

-and Richie could only do what he wished he could have done three years ago. He screamed. 

“RUN!”

3

Sidney buried their hands deep in their jacket pockets and shivered. The deli was only a few blocks from campus, so driving would just be overkill, even in the cold. Sure, it was really only a handful of wealthy assholes and monopolizing corporations responsible for the garbage in the air and the oceans, but they couldn’t help feeling that pang of guilt that came from using unnecessary gasoline. They fiddled with the sticky note in their pocket, feeling the ridges left from the ballpoint pen when they had taken the orders of their classmates who had been on kiln duty for the day. 

The sticky sweet smell of e-cigs was strong enough to taste as they walked through a cloud of vape coming from the group of students loitering on the patio of the deli. Inside was a familiar scene; plenty of students they recognized from campus were there, lining up to get dinner after an evening class, huddling around too-small tables for a study group, textbooks and notepads balanced precariously on laps and in front of plates. Sid recognized a few freshman from the intro ceramics class and gave a little wave. Their professor had been kind enough to offer them a position as studio assistant after they had graduated that spring. They still had no clue how the man managed to remember so many names of so many students, especially after over twenty years of teaching. Sidney could have them all wear name tags and still call the girl with the pink braces Melisa instead of Melinda. They even recognized a guy from administrations eating with a familiar man they didn't quite recognize in the far corner of the restaurant.

“That’ll be $30.27 sweetheart,” the elderly cashier said with a smile. Sid fumbled around in their too-big jacket for their wallet. _ Just take it out when you’re standing in line _ , Julian’s voice said.  _ That’s how I do it, and have you ever seen me fumble? _ “It’ll be out in about 15 minutes.”

They scrolled through apps on their phone to kill the time as they leaned on the counter, trying to stay as out of the way as they could in the over-crowded restaurant. The guy from administrations left with his friend, door bell tinkling to announce their departure. 

“Order 27, Sidney?” 

“Thank you,” they said, helping the cashier load the drinks into the bag. “Oh, shit, wait, my boss gave me his punch card to use, sorry.”

Sidney offered the card to the cashier, who looked back at them with a furrowed brow. 

“Sorry, do you not take these any more?” Sid asked, confused, watching the cashier snatch a handful of paper napkins.

“Honey, your nose…”

Right on cue the blood reached Sidney’s lips, the metallic tang intruding into their mouth as the cashier shoved the napkins into their face with motherly concern. “Gosh, this has to be one of the biggest nose bleeds I’ve ever seen! My grandson gets them sometimes…” 

Sidney let the woman, Nancy, dab at the blood with the napkin, her soothing manner making them feel like they were standing in a pool of morning sunlight. They didn’t need to listen to what she was saying about her grandson. They could see him. An adorable little boy, picture perfect like a Saturday Evening Post cover from the 50s, Nancy's voice telling him to get your finger outta there, why do you think it keeps bleeding? 

They muttered a thank you through the napkin and picked up the sandwich bag, not bothering to check if the order was correct; it never was. 

“Just keep the napkin on it til it stops, you don’t want a bloody shirt,” Nancy said. “And don’t hold your head back! Everyone says to but they’re wrong. It’ll go down your throat and make you sick!” 

The shiver that cut through their body when they stepped out of the deli was from more than just the cold. They felt a nervous flutter in their stomach, three points of light pulsating behind their eyelids with every blink. 

_ Do you see what I am capable of? _

In the shadows of the patio sat a figure. The man that Sidney had seen eating with the office worker was crouched down against the railing, holding a sleeve of his jacket to his face. Against better judgement, they crept closer to the man, wanting to get a better look at him. Wanting to get further from the presence that was creeping behind them. 

His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and deliberate. They were alone on a cliffside hundreds of feet above the sea. They were alone in a cavern hundreds of feet under the earth. The man’s eyes snapped open, making direct eye contact as if they had just started a staring contest. 

__

_ Did you see it? Did you see it?  _ **_Did you see It?_ **

Whatever was behind them was moving, shuffling around. Laughing. 

Run. Run. Run. 

The man screamed. 

“RUN!” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a rather short chapter, so sorry for that....but that means the chapter after will be coming soon!!! cw in the chapter for mentions of blood and child death

1

  
  
  


Sidney pushed open the door of the bathroom using their entire body, hands still full with a bag of sandwiches and a bloody napkin. The sandwich bag was haphazardly tossed into one of the sinks, the napkin barely making it into the trash can. In the free sink they wet a paper towel, wringing it out and starting the task of scrubbing the red off of their skin. 

Their hands were shaking. Their body was shaking. They thought if they looked at their reflection close enough, their eyes would be shaking. 

When the man had told them to run, they had done just that, nearly knocking over that office guy in the process. They didn’t stop until they reached the bathroom, chest heaving and eyes watering. What the  _ fuck _ had just happened?

They dried their face and hands and felt around in their tiny backpack for their notebook, grabbing the first pen they felt along with it. Sid hoisted themselves up onto the countertop and began frantically transcribing the events of that evening, something that had become habit for them after every strange event, weird sighting, bad dream, or miraculous vision that was forced upon them after what they, at this point for both simplicity and their sanity, had dubbed The Incident of last year. 

_ man at deli same feeling like the thing on cliff nosebleed at counter saw lady’s grandson even tho not there went outside familiar man w/ the feeling there sitting hiding(???) bleeding too could tell bleeding was same visions/feeling of cave + man w/ exploding chest blood blood man saw me screamed to RUN i ran  _

Sid read over what they wrote, pen tapping the page. Their entire notebook was filled with ramblings like this. Ramblings of a mad man. A classmate of theirs grabbed it once during a study session, flipping through the pages with an ever-growing concern until Sidney noticed and managed to snatch it back. They told her it was just a dream journal (technically not an entire lie) and changed the subject back to their impending exam as soon as they could. From that point on she always said farewell to them with an extra softness in her voice and an extra squeeze on the shoulder. She didn’t have time for ceramics this semester, and Sid found themselves missing her much more than expected. 

A dripping faucet brought Sidney back to the present. A present that was constantly getting more and more refracted and distorted like they were looking up at the sky from the bottom of a pool. The faucet dripped at a steady rhythm, something that could have been a calming metronome in the deafening silence were it not for the fact that it almost sounded like their name. 

_ Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.  _

It echoed in the drain, down the pipes. 

_ Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.  _

It echoed in their ears, into their head. 

_ SIDNEY.  _

Snatching up their belongings and the sandwich bag, Sidney, again, took off running. 

  
  


2

  
  
  


Richie felt...well, everything. Since the run-in with the stranger at the deli he was hyper-aware, senses heightened to a place he had never experienced. He felt every thread in the bedsheet he lay on, the skin of every inch of his body prickling with even the slightest sensation. He felt like he was floating. He felt like he was being held down onto the bed like it was spinning in a Gravitron. 

` Aaron had understandably been worried, asking multiple times on the ride back to the apartment, are you sure you don’t need to go to the emergency room? Are you sure you’re okay? He asked Richie for an emergency contact he could call if anything worse happened, and Richie went ahead and gave him Bev’s number. Aaron made him promise to text him after his nap to make sure he was still alive as he walked him to his room, and Richie promised. 

Aaron had also reassured him that no one had seen; most of the students too distracted with their work or their food, or just too plain tired, to give a fuck. And under any other circumstance he would be worried about anyone seeing, especially before a performance, the anxiety keeping him awake all night, making his stomach twist in on itself, making knots upon knots. To be fair, the same thing would likely happen tonight as well just, to say the very least, much, much worse. 

_ It _ was alive. That much he knew. That much he dreaded. 

He thought about his phone on the nightstand. He could practically hear the electricity buzzing inside of it, buzzing with the potential to send out a mass text with shaking hands to his five friends to tell them, to warn them. To let them know everything that they had done was for nothing. To let them know that Eddie had died for nothing. 

Maybe Richie’s heart was now beating too fast for him to feel it. Maybe it had stopped completely and he was dead, the afterlife turning out to be nothing more than an eternity trapped in a rotting body, still able to see, hear, and smell, unable to move, talk, or blink. He wondered if the dead could feel the fire or smell their own decay under the earth. He wondered if Eddie had been able to hear that they had (thought they had) won, that they (thought) they had killed It. He wondered if he heard them leave him behind. 

In the distance he could hear a train. He remembered his mother warning him to never play on the tracks, telling him in excruciating detail about how, once upon a time, when she was a little girl, a boy from her class had gone berry picking with his mother, wandering off onto the train tracks only to get struck and killed, his decaying corpse found later in the brush, his body thrown from the tracks by the sheer force of the engine that hit him. 

(Had he been able to feel the sun that made its way through the trees? The flies crawling on his skin?) 

He grabbed his phone. (The clock read close to 10 pm.) He scrolled through his contacts. He hit the call button. He listened to it ring. He listened to the silence surrounding him, his breath shaking in his chest. 

“Richie?” 

“Dan? Dan, hey-” 

“What’s up, man, it’s late. Is it the closet again or-?” 

“No. Uh. No. It’s worse. I think.” he laid back on the bed, setting the phone to speaker mode and positioning it next to his head on the mattress. He tried to steady his breathing. He tried to hold back his tears. Like many other goals in his life, he failed. “Dan. I think It’s still alive,” he cried in a choking sob, voice breaking. 

“You..you mean It. Like _ It _ it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Did It come after you, are you hurt, are you in trouble?” 

“No. No. I don’t even know if I saw It. But-but I saw a person who saw It. The same way I saw It, the same way Bev saw It. There-there’s not other fucking explanation.” 

“Okay. Okay. Count to ten. Okay? Count to ten and listen to me.”

“Mm hm.”

“There are an infinite amount of reasons this could have happened. They could be from Derry. Their parents could be from Derry, it could have been passed down.” 

“No-”

“Richie-”

“No, it’s not, that’s not it. It-it was  _ new _ , it was  _ fresh _ .” 

“Richie.”

“It happened here, not Derry. I could tell. It’s fucking _ here _ .”

“Richie. Listen. Maybe there are more of these things-”

“How the fuck is that any better?”

Dan was silent for a moment. 

“Well. Well, it means you did kill it. You succeeded. Everything that happened-it wasn’t for nothing. And...and if there is another one of...It...then, as callus as it sounds, it’s not your fucking problem. It hasn’t come anywhere near you. You haven’t even seen It. You’ve just seen a person who’s seen It. Maybe they did what you did. Maybe they killed their It too.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Richie. I really wish I could help more. My best advice is to just steer clear of that person, or anywhere or anything that gives off those vibes. If It comes after you then that’s another story. But for now...but for now it’s background noise for you. Okay?” 

“O-okay. Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Mm hm.” 

“Okay, Rich. I gotta get back to work soon so...remember what Dick told you. Remember what I told you. You’re okay. You’re safe. You have the knowledge and resources to get through this.” 

“Thank you, Dan,” Richie said, voice thick. “And ‘m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I told you I would always be here to help and I meant that.” 

“And you had no idea what you were getting into,” replied Richie, laughing a bit. 

Dan laughed too. “Nah, I had some idea. No offense but I could see you coming from miles away. You used to be loud as fuck.” 

“So...maybe there are more things like...It out there. It’s not It but it’s something close to It. And this person had a run in with it, escaped by the skin of their ass and is probably just really fucking loud.” 

“Yeah, that could be it,” Dan chuckled. “If you run into them again you should, like, take them under your wing like those old karate movies.” 

“I think it would be more like the stray cat you took in coming back home one day with another stray cat.” 

“Well, I like cats. And really now, I gotta go. Remember what I said, just try to stay away from it, whatever it is. I’m sure it’s not what you think it is. And if anything changes, give me a call.” 

“Yeah. Thanks again, Dan. Really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, man. Rest up, have a good night.” 

“You too, Doc. Later.” 

“Later.”

The phone went dark, the room along with it. Richie felt the last of his tears drip down along his temples and into his hair, onto the pillow. 

Count to ten.

Count to ten.

Count to ten. 

Richie hadn’t known Dan for long. Just over two years now. But so far, he had never given any bad advice. He had never led Richie wrong. 

Count to ten. 

Count to ten. 

Count to ten. 

A minute had passed. A car passed outside the window, the headlights illuminating the room, casting long shadows of the lamp, of the tree outside, along the walls and ceiling. Something shuffled on the other side of the apartment door. 

Neighbors, Richie thought. 

Something shuffling on the other side of the apartment door began to reek. Reek like rot. Reek like sewage. Reek like death. 

Richie flipped on the lamp on the bedside table. Read the writing on the door. It was familiar, but not in the way the words on the mirror had been, a confused but well meaning welcome. It was familiar like the closet door in his apartment, in every apartment or house or hotel room he had stayed in for the past three years. Like the closet door hundreds of feet below the earth under the Neibolt house.

_ VERY SCARY _

He was more intrigued than scared. (He would have to tell Dan, because, hey, this is progress, right?) It had only ever showed up on closet doors. In Richie’s head it made sense; there wasn’t a closet door in the apartment. There was just a shallow nook in the wall next to the bathroom with a rack for clothes hangers on the inside where Richie had tossed his suitcase. 

The thing on the other side of the door began to scratch, and Richie wondered if the window of the room was able to open. It was big enough for him to fit through, and it led directly to the front lawn of the apartment building and the campus beyond, across the street. 

A little evening walk sounded pretty nice right about now. 

_ “Richie.”  _ the thing croaked. _ “Richie, it’s me. Richie? Please. Open the door, Richie. Come out. Richie, please. For me. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Come out.” _

Yeah, Richie thought, opening the ground floor window, a little evening walk sounded pretty fucking nice right about now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like I said, a short chapter :( but if u like my writing I have plenty more reddie fics on my profile!! thank you for reading, stay safe, stay healthy, and see yall next time!!!
> 
> the playlist for this fic can be found [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0DeTVm5SB2eGdDkbWEqpCJ?si=qo0CoMgKTRm8-lKuGSzOtw)
> 
> you can follow me on twitter for more yelling [here!](https://twitter.com/hoizertoizer)

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my work, please consider leaving a comment! It means the world to me. Stay safe, stay healthy, and see you next time.


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